Fate
by wolfraven80
Summary: When Byleth uses Divine Pulse to avoid a lethal ambush she assumes all will be set right-just as it has in the past. But one mistake begets another and it seems as if fate is working against her. [F!BylethxEdelgard] [tiny bit of DorotheaxPetra]


**Fate**

The high pitch whinnying of a pegasus draws Byleth's attention. She scans the courtyard until she spots the mount tugging against its reins while its rider tries, inexpertly it seems, to calm it. She makes a mental note to speak to Ingrid about the new batch of scouts.

"Professor?" Edelgard has paused and turned to see why Byleth is lagging behind.

Byleth shakes her head and hurries to join her comrades. The newly-conquered fortress of Arianrhod is bustling with soldiers, some coming in to join the castle defences, and others preparing to return to Garreg Mach alongside Edelgard and the Black Eagle Strike Force. "It's nothing," she assures Edelgard and they continue on towards the gate where their mounts have been readied for them.

And in spite of the busy courtyard and the many onlookers who pause to watch as the Emperor of Adrestia walks past, Byleth can't help but let her eyes linger on Edelgard's face. She is luminous in the early morning sunlight, her red garments billowing around her like flames. The horned helm binding her silvery hair and the steel in her violet eyes make her seem as fearsome as the Immaculate One they'll soon be facing. Her unyielding determination to change the world for the better makes Byleth love her more than she thought possible for someone who was meant to be nothing but a hollow vessel. Edelgard knows like no one else what it means to be crafted into a weapon, to have one's whole life–and one's very body–altered to be wielded by someone else's ambitions. They were both made into vessels for the Crest of Flames. They are bound together by that fate and together they will defeat the ones who've tried to use them to control Fódlan.

Once upon a time, ages ago it seems, Sothis had told her to cut her own path. Looking at Edelgard now, Byleth feels a swell of gratitude that she's been able to cut this path with her. The victory at Arianrhod was decisive and now they can turn their attention to the north. The end of this war is in sight. And when it's over... Byleth fingers the ring in her pocket. She wants so desperately to offer it to El, to offer her heart–unbeating though it might be.

Edelgard catches her staring and glances at her with raised eyebrows. "What is it?"

"You just look... very well today. Sleep well?"

"Yes," Edelgard replies with a nod. "A full night's sleep. It was lovely."

A few paces ahead, Dorothea and Petra are standing close, talking animatedly as Dorothea absently pats her horse's nose. Petra turns to go but then turns back and, smiling, speaks a phrase in Brigid. "Mo ghrá thú."

When Edelgard and Byleth join Dorothea she's still smiling and has begun singing to herself. "You're in a good mood today," Edelgard notes. "What did Petra say?"

"I love you," Byleth supplies.

Edelgard starts and stops to stare at Byleth, her face turning almost as scarlet as her dress.

Dorothea, who is only a little flushed, laughs. "Professor, I didn't know you spoke any of Brigid's tongue. Did Petra teach you back at the academy?"

Byleth shakes her head, though her gaze remains on Edelgard's curiously flushed face. "I only know a few phrases. There were some mercenaries from Brigid my father and I travelled with."

Dorothea quirks an eyebrow. "You picked up that phrase from mercenaries? I'd have thought they'd talk more about stabbing and slicing."

"They used that phrase all the time," Byleth says with a shrug. "They were bedmates."

Edelgard remains very quiet and ducks her head but Dorothea smiles broadly and clasps her hands together in delight. "Oh a mercenary romance. That sounds like something from one of the operas I performed, _The Fallen Armies_. I played the lovelorn pegasus rider. It was lovely. And tragic of course."

For a moment Byleth tries to recall if Dorothea has told her about this particular opera before or if she's getting them all confused. "Are all of your operas tragic?"

"Only the best ones." But then Dorothea's eyes catch on something over Byleth's shoulder and when Byleth turns she sees Petra astride her sleek chestnut mare, sitting tall in the saddle. Dorothea's gaze returns to Byleth and a broad smile spreads across her face even as her eyes grow bright. "Petra's asked me to come to Brigid with her after the war."

"Oh Dorothea!" Edelgard's voice is uncharacteristically full of emotion. "I'm very pleased for you. But I _will_ miss you."

"Thank you," she says softly. And then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "But you won't need me. You'll have the professor to take care of you. Isn't that right, professor?" She winks.

Byleth doesn't bat an eye. "Of course."

Edelgard clears her throat. "We should get moving." She looks quite flushed once again as she marches off towards their horses.

#

The mist rolls in out of nowhere, slathering the clear blue sky in a milky film. It surrounds them so that the mounted forms around her become ghost-like shadows. She can still make out Edelgard next to her, her red cloak easily discernable, but the rest of her retinue has vanished.

Byleth's skin prickles like the moments before a lightning strike. "Something's wrong," she says. "We should–"

But then her ears are filled with the flick of arrows raining down on them. She feels one graze her cheek and another glance past her thigh and then the air is full of screams. Byleth turns in time to see Edelgard's scarlet cape billowing in the air as she falls from the saddle.

"Edelgard!" Byleth's pulse is throbbing in her temples as she vaults off her horse and it's the only sound she can hear. The arrows, the screams have all vanished. There's only that heartless pounding of blood in her ears and a terror that closes her throat.

Edelgard is lying on the ground, eyes wide, clutching the arrow shaft jutting out of her chest. There is blood on her lips and her breath comes in wet gasps. Byleth is shouting something–she's not sure what, maybe for a healer or for Linhardt or Dorothea–but she can't see anyone else in the fog. They are surrounded by dim shadows and thrashing horses and arrows buried in the ground.

Dropping to the ground, Byleth gathers Edelgard in her arms. Each breath is a gargle and her violet eyes fix on Byleth's face. Her lips move. "Go on..." Her chest is wracked by a wet cough. Her mouth is as scarlet as her cape. "Without... me."

Byleth's arms clench around Edelgard, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. She holds Edelgard's gaze. "It's all right, El. I'm going to fix this. It'll be all right."

And then Byleth seizes the strands of time and tugs.

#

The world shifts around Byleth, silhouetted in the shadowy light of Divine Pulse, as times flows backwards and resettles.

The mist is thick all around the Adrestian army. Byleth's hand darts to her sword and she draws the blade, ready this time as the deadly rainfall showers them. Her eyes see, her hand moves, the arrow breaks upon her blade and falls to the earth.

Edelgard is staring at her, startled, but then comes to herself and calls the other riders to her, rallying their forces. But another volley is already upon them, centred on Edelgard. It's as if the enemy can see through the mist, as if they know precisely where she in spite of it. They had scouts ahead of them and pegasus riders above. Any ambush should have been routed long before Edelgard's detachment arrived.

Byleth's blade makes a wide arc through the air, batting away the deadly missiles aimed at her Emperor.

But then a familiar voice, normally melodic, breaks into a ragged scream. Byleth peers into the fog, and there, just to her left, she can see Dorothea astride her horse, her hands wrapped around her throat. The grey film of fog can't dull the vividness of the blood gushing between her fingers.

Byleth has seen many wounds in her years as a mercenary. She knows which can be treated with bandages and stitches and which require faith magic to save the patient's life. She also knows when a wound is fatal.

There's too much blood pumping out of Dorothea's body, too fast.

Dorothea slumps forward in her saddle but already another shape is by her side. Petra pulls her out of the saddle and instantly covered in blood. She is frantic, screaming in her native tongue.

A chill wave washes down Byleth's spine. She's saved Edelgard but failed her dearest friends. And the arrows are still hailing down on them from their unknown assailants.

So instead of watching her friends die, she reaches once more for time's weft and pulls its strings apart.

#

The world shifts around Byleth, silhouetted in the shadowy light of Divine Pulse, as times flows backwards and resettles.

The mist is thick all around the Adrestian army. Byleth vaults from her saddle. "Get down!" she yells at the top of her lungs even as she snags Edelgard around the waist and tugs her out of the saddle, ignoring her shocked protest. They tumble to the dirt-packed road in a heap and Byleth throws herself over the Emperor as the first wave of arrows crashes down on them.

Edelgard's breathing and Byleth's own pulse are like a roar in her ears, and it takes her several seconds to identify the pitchy sounds hovering high in the mist as a pegasus shrieks. Have the scouts found the enemy? Is the enemy above them?

"Professor," Edelgard says forcefully, pushing up against Byleth. Byleth rolls away so that Edelgard can rise but she finds herself looking at another shape lying on the road, face turned up towards the misted sky. Ribbons of fog wisp around her mane of braided hair. She is still. An arrow is jutting out of her face.

Petra.

Petra who was riding behind them. Petra who's been struck by the same arrow that killed Edelgard the first time the arrows came, before Byleth used Divine Pulse.

A second wave of arrows patters down on the imperial army. A flash of fire lights the air as Dorothea's magic flares to life. She sees Petra and begins screaming her name and Byleth can't stand to watch any longer. She's failed them again.

She reaches for the tenuous threads of time and yanks them.

#

This time Byleth pushes further back. The momentary darkness of the Divine Pulse is deeper, the silhouettes of the riders outlined in stark white lines. But when she releases time, the mist is gone–or not yet arrived.

She turns to Edelgard. "We can't go this way," she announces. "We need to stop. Now."

Edelgard looks baffled. "Professor? I don't understand."

"There's something up ahead. A mage who can cast mist I think–but I don't know where." Edelgard is staring. "We need to go another way. At the next fork in the road tell the forces to take the east road instead."

Byleth is beginning to feel a cold wisp of panic creeping up her spine. It shouldn't be this difficult; it never has been before. The Divine Pulse has helped her avoid pitfalls and intervene to save lives before and usually with ease. But today it's as if fate is against her.

When she finally speaks, Edelgard looks concerned–as if suspecting Byleth of going slightly mad. "My teacher, are you certain?"

"Yes. Please, Edelgard. You must trust me." She holds Edelgard's gaze and tries to put into it all her desperation and determination both, all that she feels for Edelgard and all she wishes to protect her from.

Edelgard gives a small nod. Byleth's entire body sags with relief. A few minutes later the approach the split in the path and Edelgard gives the order. Her retinue hesitates a moment until she confirms the order. The scouts race off ahead of them to check the road for enemies–enemies Byleth is relieved to think they've finally left behind. A short ways ahead, Hubert is turning his dusky steed around to join them and inquire about the change in direction. It is, after all, no small task to move an army, even if it's only a fraction of the army that left Garreg Mach.

But they are turning, taking a different path away from the mist and the ambush. Relieved and grateful in equal measure, Byleth reaches across the gap to squeeze Edelgard's arm. "Thank you. I–"

She gets no further before white fire pierces her body, skewing her senses with pain. She tilts her head to see an arrow shaft jutting out of her, in the fleshy part between her shoulder and neck. The thought flits through her mind that the shot came from above and would have struck Edelgard had she not leaned over at just that moment.

Breathing is suddenly difficult, like there's a bubble filling up her throat. Edelgard's lips are moving but all Byleth can hear is the strange wet gurgle when she tries to draw breath.

The world is growing dimmer. Byleth focusses her remaining strength on time's taut strings. Her body is weak, boneless, like a sack of grain. She forces herself to grasp time–fails at first; she's falling, the world is darkening–and she grasps hard and tugs.

#

This time Byleth pushes further back. The momentary darkness of the Divine Pulse is deeper, the silhouettes of the riders outlined in stark white lines. But when she releases time, the mist is gone–or not yet arrived.

A phantom ache lingers in her throat and her hand leaps up to her neck, feeling around for a wound that no longer exists.

"Professor? Are you well?" Edelgard asks.

When Byleth looks at her, she can feel something inside her beginning to crumble. Why can't she fix this? Why isn't it working? They're so close to putting an end to this war. She needs to protect Edelgard–needs Edelgard to be by her side to the end when they finally face Rhea, but she also needs something more... a chance at happiness after the war. She can still see the image in her mind's eye, Edelgard, bloodied, dying in her arms. But she also wants her friends to have that chance and she's seen them die as well today.

It's as if the goddess is trying to make her pay a price for choosing this path. As if her whole life hasn't been a price. She can't remember her childhood. She barely knew her father. All those years with him, wasted because she was a blank slate waiting for Sothis to awaken within her.

Edelgard is still watching her, looking worried now. Byleth shakes her head. She's never told her about the Divine Pulse. She's never told anyone. Sothis no longer speaks to her so perhaps her presence is no longer a secret that needed to be kept. But the rest... Her unbeating heart–Rhea's doing. Her powers–the goddess's doing. Would Edelgard still look at her with such care and concern if she knew how inhuman Byleth really was? That perhaps she had more in common with their enemies than her allies?

Byleth takes a deep breath and shakes off all of it. She is the Ashen Demon. She can face any enemy head on. Even fate.

The last time there had been no mist, no ambush. Only one archer. Had the shot come from above? It had seemed to. But that meant...

Byleth darted a glance to the clear skies where half a dozen pegasus riders and a few wyverns circled above the army. The archer had to be one of the airborne riders. A traitor.

She turns to Edelgard, a plan forming. "I'm going to ask something of you and I need you to trust me."

Edelgard's eyebrows shoot up. "And what would that be?"

"I need you to send the aerial escort to scout the environs. And then I need you to turn the army around and return to Arianrhod."

"This is sudden. I assume there's a reason?"

"I suspect that there's a traitor among them," Byleth says in a low tone. "And that there may be an ambush ahead."

For a minute Byleth isn't certain if Edelgard will agree. Her lips are thinned to a line and she's watching Byleth intently. She can tell Edelgard is going to press her further and panic begins to well up in her again because every stride of their horses is bringing them closer to the trap, to their deaths waiting for them in the mist. She reaches out to grip Edelgard's arm. "Please. Please trust me. We're in danger."

Finally, Edelgard nods and gives the order. She sends the riders out. Byleth watches to see if one of them will break ranks and attack again, but this time the rider doesn't act so rashly: they don't known yet that the army is about to turn around.

Once the wyverns and pegasi are out of sight, Edelgard orders the army to turn around. When Hubert comes to inquire after the decision, she says simply that there's Byleth believes there's danger ahead and that she'll explain further once they've returned to the fortress city.

The ride back is taut and exhausting as Byleth is constantly on the lookout for the returning pegasi but the army reaches Arianrhod without incident. The fortress guards appear confused as they pass through the open gates, but Byleth can only be relieved even though she still has a traitor to root out. They've made it back. She's avoided the fate that's been dogging her all through this interminable day.

She'll need to wait for Ingrid to return. Ingrid will know who they can trust and is in the best position to help identify the traitor. They can search the scouts when they return. Most don't carry bows so anyone carrying one is a likely suspect. She also needs to figure out how she'll explain this to Edelgard and the others. She sighs and dismounts from her horse. It feels like an age since they left this place, though it's only been a matter of hours. But weariness is settling into her bones.

She glances up again for the returning flyers but what she sees instead puzzles her. Circles of blue light are descending from the sky, forming a sort of pillar and then something–a javelin of light–is coursing through the centre of those circles, towards the far side of the fortress. Before she can register any more than that, the javelin strikes Arianrhod.

Byleth is thrown backwards as a blast of fire and rubble sweeps across the south side of the fort. The roar is deafening. It rolls over her like thousands hooves of a stampeding herd, crushing the air from her lungs. Her eyes sting as she forces them open. Fire and rubble greet her eyes. Through the veil of dust and heat she looks for her friends. There are shapes of people and horses. She squints against the burning in her eyes. Is that Edelgard's cloak? Or blood on the cobblestones? She tries to move but her right leg is pinned under a heap of rubble.

And then the air is filled with sound, a hiss of air from above. Byleth stares up at the sky to find herself staring into a blue ring of light. And then the bright tip of a second javelin is hurtling down towards Arianrhod.

Byleth does all she can think of to do: she seizes time and bends it back once more.

#

Time peels back slowly. The flickering of flames freezes and turns to a sharp blue as everything begins to turn back. Destruction is undone, the javelin un-falls, and then Byleth is back in the saddle of her horse on the road between Arianrhod and Garreg Mach. Her bones feel like they're filled with fire but there's no time to sort herself out–there's no time!

She tugs on her horse's reins and releases a flare of magic into the air signalling for a flyer and then she turns to Edelgard who looks mystified. "We need to send flyers to Arianrhod and tell them to begin an evacuation. Everyone there is in danger."

"Professor, I don't understand. What–"

"Please, Edelgard, you must believe me. If you've ever trusted in me, please..."

"I have the utmost faith in you, my teacher. But this is very sudden." She looks torn, confused. Byleth knows how she must look–frazzled and frantic, completely unlike her normal, composed self. But she's cheated death and used Divine Pulse so many times today that she's beginning to feel threadbare herself, as if she'd left the fabric of her being in one of those other moments that no longer exist.

"I promise you I'll explain later."

Finally Edelgard gives a curt nod and a moment later when the flyer descends, she relays the order: return to Arianrhod and evacuate the fortress. "I'm going to ride back as well. Hold the army here until you have word from Arianrhod." She doesn't want them riding into that ambush again, though perhaps without the traitor flying above them, spotting for the attackers, they would be safe. But there's too much at stake.

Edelgard raises an eyebrow. "There had better be a very good explanation because I'm about to get an earful from Hubert." And indeed Hubert has turned his dark gelding around and is heading towards them.

"There is. I promise." And then, on impulse, she leans in to brush her fingers over Edelgard's cheek. "Be safe," she says and turns her horse even as the emperor's cheeks turn quite scarlet.

The race back to Arianrhod is a blur. She takes off at a gallop but then has the sense to slow her horse's pace, alternating between a canter and a trot so as not to wear out the poor beast mid-route. Her pulse thuds in her temples when she finally catches sight of the fortress up ahead. When she reaches its gates, she finds the city in chaos. A few people are trickling out but as soon as she reaches the courtyard she finds the pegasus knights she sent back in a violent argument with the leaders of House Rowe.

Byleth marches up to them, her face a mask of fury. "Arianrhod is to be evacuated by order of her Imperial Majesty. There's no time to waste." They turn and begin shouting their questions and objections are her instead.

"We can't abandon Arianrhod without explanation!"

"Why should we go? What's going on?

"We can't empty Arianrhod on such short notice."

"Surely this is a trick by the enemy to get us to abandon our defences."

Byleth draws the Sword of the Creator. It flares red in her grip, glowing with magical energy. The objections fall silent. "The entire fortress is in danger. We've very little time. Everyone needs to get out. _Now_!"

They grumble their dissatisfaction, their misgivings, but they begin to order their people. But it's no small task to send thousands of soldiers and support staff out of the fortress. People have barely begun filing out before a sound, as of a giant blade cutting through the sky, reaches Byleth's ears. She looks up and sees the circles.

Too late. It's too late. Time is against her.

The javelin falls just as she reaches for Divine Pulse. The blast of flame surges towards her but she tangles her hand into time's weave and pulls herself back.

#

Time peels back slowly. The flickering of flames freezes and turns to a sharp blue as everything begins to turn back. Destruction is undone, the javelin un-falls, and then Byleth is back in the saddle of her horse on the road between Arianrhod and Garreg Mach. Her bones feel like they're filled with fire but there's no time to sort herself out–there's no time!

Perhaps if she can figure out what the javelins are she can find a way to stop them. Perhaps magic can knock them out the sky. Or perhaps a relic can destroy them. Surely there's some way to prevent this calamity.

She tugs on her horse's reins and releases a flare of magic into the air signalling for a flyer and then she turns to Edelgard who looks mystified. "I need to borrow a pegasus and return to Arianrhod. And I need you to hold the army here until you receive word from Arianrhod."

"Professor, I don't understand. What is going on?"

"Please, Edelgard, I need you to trust in me. We're all in danger."

"I have the utmost faith in you, my teacher. But this is very sudden."

A weight is beginning to settle on Byleth's chest, more than just fatigue from repeated use of Divine Pulse. She's come and gone so many times today, watched her friends die, died herself, failed to save so many... Something close to weariness or perhaps even despair is beginning to weigh her down, make her limbs heavy and her thoughts sluggish. But she can't give up. Too many lives are riding on her decisions.

"I promise you I'll explain later."

After a pause, Edelgard gives a curt nod. A moment later when the flyer descends, Byleth explains that she needs to borrow a mount. Pegasus riding isn't her expertise but she has the basics down and is certified for simple manoeuvers so when Edelgard confirms the order the pegasus rider surrenders her mount to Byleth. The pegasus snorts and stamps a hoof, apparently less than pleased with the new arrangement.

"Hold the army here until you have word from Arianrhod," Byleth tells Edelgard. The traitor was likely spotting for the members of the ambush, allowing them to track Edelgard and adjust their aim when it was time to attack. She doesn't want them riding into that trap again. If the army waits, the spotter will likely assume her cover hasn't been broken since Byleth is leaving alone.

Edelgard's expression has shifted from confusion to concern as she watches Byleth mount the pegasus. "Be careful, my teacher."

"I will. Wait for word from Arianrhod." Edelgard nods. The pegasus is prancing, nervous at this new rider, and Byleth pats its neck to try to calm it. Steadying her mount, she leans towards Edelgard to whisper in her ear, "Wait for me." The pegasus steps nervously again and causes Byleth's lips to press against Edelgard's skin and drag across her cheek as Byleth draws back.

"I will," the emperor whispers even as her face is turning a brilliant scarlet and Byleth launches her pegasus into the sky.

The cold air whips Byleth's face and tangles her hair as the pegasus soars towards Arianrhod. On any other day she might wonder at the sight of the fields and crags and tiny homes spread out beneath her like one of her tactical maps. But today there's no time, no respite. She must try to stop the javelins of light. If she can get close to them before they strike she may have a chance.

They reach the fortress in good time and she has the pegasus circle around in lazy loops for a while, letting it rest in preparation for the burst of speed they'll need to catch the javelins. The sound of the very air being sliced apart warns her and then she's urging her mount forward just as the blue circles begin to appear, climbing down the heavens towards the fortress below. As she reaches the edge, she lets loose a blast of her strongest magic, just as the javelin passes by.

It continues its descent unerringly.

Byleth urges the pegasus higher, away from the blast that follows behind them. She doesn't dare look down at the fire and rubble. So many lives. So much death. She points her pegasus towards the southern sector of the city and draws the Sword of the Creator. Surely the most fearsome relic in Fódlan can stop this foul magic.

The blue circles descend a second time. She whips the blade forward letting it lash out with its steely spine to strike the second javelin. It strikes the metallic surface and an awful grating follows as the sword tip tears open a ragged gash in the javelin's metal skin. Black smoke leaks out of the tear but the javelin's trajectory doesn't change and it continues its descent.

The second explosion is even more violent than the first and though she avoids the ball of flame that rises from the decimated fortress, debris hurtles into the sky. A chunk of stonework the size of her head collides with the pegasus's wing. It whinnies in shock and pain and then they are both tumbling headlong towards the ground.

Byleth screams even as she reaches for the thick cords of time surrounding her and clasps them tight and tugs.

#

Exhaustion and despair vie for Byleth's attention as she finds herself once again in the saddle, somewhere between Arianrhod and Garreg Mach, in this day that refuses to end without death.

Nothing is changing. Her choices, her actions–nothing she does seems to make any difference today. It's like when her father died. He died because she couldn't save him, couldn't change what was. Sothis had told her that if turning back time couldn't save him then it must be fate.

"I won't accept this," Byleth snarls. Her bones feel as heavy as leaden training weights. Her very blood seems chilled in her veins. But she refuses to let this day end like this.

"My teacher, what's wrong?" Edelgard has stopped her horse and is looking at Byleth with alarm. "Are you unwell?"

Byleth lets her eyes rest on the person she's come to treasure more than any other. She is resplendent in the daylight, aglow in the sun's mellow beams. She sits tall in the saddle, regal and commanding, the image of strength and certainty. To the outside world she is the Emperor of Adrestia, the bringer of flames and war and truth. She offers her people freedom from the shackles of the Church of Seiros's lies and the crests that bind them all to its service. But they don't see Edelgard. They know nothing of El.

El, who loves bergamot tea and red carnations and sweets. El, who needs open air and the caress of wind against face. El, who didn't really need a teacher, but an equal, someone to share her burdens with, to share the weight of this war. El, who blushes when Byleth looks into her eyes and speaks her name softly.

Edelgard's violet eyes are fixed on her at this very moment, and Byleth remembers holding Edelgard's gaze as she cradled her broken body in her arms, feeling her life pulse out of her with every heartbeat. She knows Edelgard will never give up, not as long as she draws breath. The powers she's gained came at the cost of many lives and she _will not_ let those lives go to waste. Byleth must be her equal in this, she must be as dauntless, as immovable. She can't allow herself to give up until she's spent her every breath as well.

She knows what she needs to do.

A faint smile touches Byleth's lips as she lets herself look on her dear emperor. The day they met Byleth's life began in earnest. She may have no heartbeat, but Edelgard has given her life. You_ are my heart, El._

Byleth smiles at Edelgard and, softly, says, "Mo ghrá thú." She watches the surprise on Edelgard's face turn into a creeping blush and then she musters all her strength, all the steely determination she's learned from her dear emperor, and yanks time as far back as she possibly can.

#

It's like pushing through inky blackness. Sothis said the Divine Pulse had limits but she never said precisely what they were. Before today she's never needed to push further than the beginning of battle and even then it could be a strain if the battle had started more than a few minutes earlier. Today she peels back the hours. All the light disappears with them. She pushes through the darkness feeling around for that moment in time she recalls with clarity, that morning when the day was bright and hopeful.

Time resists her. Those passing hours have solidified into a tight weave and it's like trying to cut through a thick braided rope with a dull sword. She forces herself back though the weave. She is the blade, sawing through this strand of time that _must_ be cut off. She refuses to let time take this shape. She won't allow it. She won't allow Edelgard to be struck down, or her friends, or all the people of Arianrhod. If this is fate she'll fight it until her last breath puffs out of her lungs, until all the strength is gone from her body.

Finally she glimpses a shred of light. She reaches for it, yanks away the skeins of dead time and cuts her way through the darkness and into the light of morning.

Her knees are like water. She wavers and reaches out to steady herself. When she looks over she realizes she's gripping Edelgard's shoulder and the emperor is looking at her with concern. "Professor, is something wrong?"

Byleth takes several deep breaths but the world is spinning. Yet they're back in the courtyard of Arianrhod, about to mount their horses to leave the fortress. A pegasus is whinnying. Nearby–not above like it should be. She glances across the courtyard and sees again a pegasus rider trying, with great difficulty, to settle a jittery mount. Much like a pegasus that's unaccustomed to a new rider.

Fire sears Byleth's blood and strength surges into her limbs, sending her racing across the courtyard. Before she's even reached her she can see the bow and quiver poking out of the rider's saddlebags. Byleth lunges for the rider and snags her by the wrist, snarling, "Who are you?"

"I'm Lea Torin. I'm part of the emperor's aerial escort."

Byleth turns to the nearest soldier. "You there, go find General Ingrid and ask here to come here to identify one of her riders."

"Yes, ma'am," he says and hurries off.

Her eyes return to the rider in time to notice the pallidness of her face, but Byleth is exhausted and reacts too slowly when the Lea's free hand moves to her side. Lea's dagger cuts a wide arc and as Byleth leaps backs, she feels a line of fire across her belly. She manages to dodge Lea's second blow and easily steps into her reach and grabs hold of her arm. The Crest of Flames accentuates her natural strength and she's easily able to twist Lea's arm behind her back with such force that something snaps. Lea screams, her dagger clattering on the cobblestones.

This is the traitor, the one spotting for the ambush, the one who's killed them over and over on this day of misery. Byleth kicks the dagger away and then grabs Lea by the collar. "Where is the ambush?" No answer, only a choked sob.

She dimly registers that Ingrid has arrived and is asking what in the world is going on and Edelgard is racing towards them as well. But Byleth can feel weariness settling into her limbs. Anger can only keep her exhaustion at bay for so many minutes. On any other day she could lift this girl off the ground with one hand, but now her limbs are trembling. There's not much time. "Tell me _now_," she snarls and gives Lea a shake for good measure, jostling her broken arm, making her shriek.

"A mile... after the east fork... in the main road," she says between gasps.

Byleth turns to Ingrid. "Did you get that?"

Ingrid nods. "I did. But... who is this and what's going on?"

"I would like to know that as well," Edelgard says.

Byleth darts a glance at Ingrid, but she keeps her attention on the traitor. "She says her name is Lea Torin. She's taken the place of one of your scouts and was going to act as a spotter for an ambush."

Confusion turns to concern and then anger on Ingrid's features. "That's a northern name. She's probably from the Kingdom then."

Lea spits at Ingrid's feet. "Traitor," she growls.

Ingrid ignores her. "I'll do a headcount on my scouts and see who's missing and then we'll flush the ambush."

"Be on the lookout for mages and archers," Byleth says. White spots are dancing at the edge of her vision like puffs of mist.

"Guard, take this woman into custody," Edelgard commands. Only when the guard has a grip on Lea does Byleth loosen her hold. And then her knees buckle.

"Professor!" Edelgard is next to her. The Emperor of Adrestia is kneeling on the ground next to her in front of all her soldiers. Byleth wants to protest but the world is beginning to spin and she needs to warn them to get out of the fortress. "You're hurt." Confused, Byleth stares down at her belly where she can see a growing red stain. Edelgard unclasps her cape and presses it against the Byleth's wound. "Fetch a healer!" Edelgard says to someone beyond the edge of Byleth's darkening vision.

"Arianrhod," Byleth says. But it comes out as a raspy whisper. "You need to get out..."

Edelgard shushes her. "Hold still."

She can barely hold herself upright. She slumps forward, murmuring against Edelgard's shoulder, "Need to... get everyone... out. Light... from the..."

"Hush, my teacher. Ingrid will take care of the ambush. You've saved a great many lives. Now be still until the healer comes."

"Arianrhod... need to..."

And then the heaviness brings her down and she's enveloped in darkness.

#

Byleth wakes in a bed. Not hers, she notes–the pillow isn't right and the mattress is harder. A camp bed, almost certainly. One of the nice ones like she and the other generals have. She raises her eyes and sure enough she's staring up at a tent ceiling.

"Ah, you're awake," says an unfamiliar voice. She props herself up on her elbows to see a healer rising from a stool near the tent flap. "Please stay here while I get the Emperor. She wanted to be notified the moment you woke up."

Byleth waits for him to slip out of the tent before slowly easing herself into a sitting position. Her belly aches and when she raises the hem of her shirt she can see a thin pink line where the traitor sliced her open. It had been such an amateur mistake but she'd been too sluggish and dim-witted to disarm her first. This is her tent which means they must have left Arianrhod and made camp. She waits on tenterhooks for Edelgard to come so she can find out what's happened while she was sleeping.

When Edelgard appears some minutes later, relief is written plainly across her features. She perches on the edge of Byleth's bed and looks her up and down as if worried she might collapse again. "How are you feeling?"

Byleth rolls her shoulders. "A bit stiff but otherwise fine. About this morning–"

"This morning?" Edelgard shakes her head. "Professor, you've been asleep for nearly three days."

"I–what?"

"Your wound was healed but you remained unconscious even afterwards. Manuela insisted you were only asleep."

"Three days," Byleth repeats, too stunned to string together a full sentence. She'd pushed so hard with Divine Pulse it must have drained her completely. "Arianrhod," she murmurs. Her head shoots up. "What happened after I passed out?"

"All is well, my teacher," Edelgard assures her. "Ingrid and the scouts routed the ambush and we've had no other difficulties on the way. We left Arianrhod only an hour later than planned. We'll reach Garreg Mach tomorrow."

And then they'll have news that the fortress was destroyed by some mysterious force. That everyone–or nearly so–is dead. She's failed.

Byleth hangs her head and grits her teeth against the desire to roar, to bellow every oath she knows at the stars where they say Sothis is watching them from. Was this fate after all? She's saved Edelgard. She's saved Dorothea and Petra and countless soldiers from their ranks. But she's been unable to do anything for those stationed at Arianrhod. In that moment she finds herself wishing she could go back to how she'd been, the Ashen Demon, without fear and anger and anguish. Perhaps being empty is preferable to having a heart after all.

She looks up when she feels a faint touch against her arm. Edelgard watches her with concern–which has become her perpetual expression of late it seems. "What is it?"

Byleth shakes her head. She's never told Edelgard–or anyone for that matter–about the Divine Pulse. During the months they had spent together, Sothis had always insisted she keep her presence and her powers a secret.

"Did something happen?" Edelgard asks. "Something to do with the power you received from the goddess?" Byleth's breath catches in her throat but she doesn't answer. "All those years ago, after you came back from the darkness, you fell into a deep sleep then as well."

For a time Byleth remains silent, considering what to say next. She could tell her the truth, that Sothis gifted her with the power to manipulate time. But would Edelgard think less of her then? Trust her less? Her connection with Sothis makes her somehow less human and more like the children of the goddess, their enemies. Would Edelgard see her as what she was meant to be–an empty vessel for the goddess to inhabit?

Her hand goes to the ring in her pocket and she considers what it would mean to offer it. Can she do that while withholding this other part of herself? Of who–or what–she is?

So she tells Edelgard about bending back time, about her efforts to change things over and over today. About how she didn't realize at first that there was a traitor, tracking them and flagging their location to the Kingdom troops waiting in ambush. About how she can't always change things, can't always save someone–like her father–and how she was afraid that might be the case today. About the strain of pushing further to avert the ambush completely. She leaves out the destruction of Arianrhod. Perhaps she's wrong and all really is well. But she has a terrible premonition that news of its destruction will follow them to Garreg Mach.

Edelgard's expression betrays her surprise as Byleth tells her story of the day's trials. For a minute afterwards she sits there in stunned silence and finally Byleth can't look at her anymore. She turns and stares at the far wall of her tent. "I understand if you don't..." She falters and forces herself to breathe. The Ashen Demon wouldn't have quavered so, wouldn't be crushed by Edelgard's silence. She steels herself and tries again. "If you can't rely on my counsel any longer."

"Professor..." Edelgard speaks softly. And then, when she doesn't look up, "Byleth." And Byleth does look up at her even though she's still afraid of what she'll find in those violet eyes. Edelgard reaches out and squeezes Byleth's hand. "You used the goddess's power... to save me?"

"Of course I did."

"And you were allowed to do this?" Edelgard appears puzzled. "You've had these powers but weren't prevented from aiding me? From fighting against the children of the goddess?"

Byleth shakes her head. "Sothis told me to choose my own path. And I did."

"Thank you, my teacher," Edelgard whispers. "And I will always want your counsel. And your company." She squeezes her hand again. "And thank you for fighting so hard to save me."

In her mind's eye Byleth sees again the image of Edelgard's pale, bloodied face. Something cracks inside of her and she wraps an arm around Edelgard's shoulders and pulls her in close, wrapping her up in a crushing embrace. "I couldn't do any less," she says fiercely.

After a moment of startled stiffness, Edelgard melts into Byleth's arms. She belongs there–Byleth is certain of it. And though to the world the Emperor of Adrestia is cold steel, here, in Byleth's arms, she is so warm, so soft, and they linger together like that, content. They are made of the same stuff.

For Edelgard she'd defy fate. And if she couldn't, she'd give her last breath trying to. But she can face fate tomorrow, face her failings in the light of day. For now, in the quiet darkness, all she needs to do is hold on to the one she loves the most.

**The End**


End file.
